


Somewhere Over the Rainbow

by nagi_schwarz



Series: Blood and Water [22]
Category: Stargate Atlantis, Weiß Kreuz
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-24
Updated: 2018-07-24
Packaged: 2019-06-15 15:12:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15415731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nagi_schwarz/pseuds/nagi_schwarz
Summary: Written for the rainbow comment_fic prompt: "Stargate Atlantis, Evan Lorne (+/ any), a relative named Rainbow."John follows along helplessly as Evan goes forward with his plan. Their first stop is somewhere over the rainbow.





	Somewhere Over the Rainbow

John’s head spun. Evan’s mother was the Queen. Evan kept framing everything in terms of a chess game - encountering their former Families, moving against them. Had he been playing a long game, all this time? Since he was sixteen years old?

The woman standing beside Evan’s mother was obviously his sister, for how similar all three of them looked together. There was a missing piece. Evan’s father. The man who’d made Evan as hard as he was, as twisted and drawn to pain as he was. What did he look like? For Evan had his mother’s blue eyes, as did his sister. Neither of them had her pretty red-blonde hair.

Evan rose, bowed to his sister. He was the youngest child but the oldest son.

She inclined her head politely in return, as regal as any queen. Then she turned to the two boys - neither of them older than ten - and spoke to them in rapid-fire Armenian.

Both of them nodded, turned, ran up the stairs. 

“Ma’am,” John said, bowing slightly at the waist. He hadn’t had to use these manners in a long, long time.

“Please, call me Shannon,” she said. “This is my daughter, Sofia.”

Sofia said  _ How do you do? _ like something out of Pride & Prejudice, and she and John shook hands.

“Let us make preparations,” Shannon said. She also spoke to Sofia in Armenian.

Sofia nodded, ducked out of the room.

The two boys came trotting down the stairs. Both of them had backpacks. One of them had a blanket, the other a stuffed toy. Go bags. The boys were prepared to run. John had had a bag like that when he was a child. He’d updated it periodically, changed out the clothes as he grew so his emergency clothes fit. He’d gone from a blanket to a stuffed toy to a toy car to a book to a chessboard to a Walkman and some of his favorite tapes to -

To a duffel bag, because he’d gone to college and joined the Air Force and never looked back.

Sofia returned with two bags, one for her, one for her mother.

The two boys gazed at Evan, eyes wide and curious.

“Is it true?” one of them asked.

“Is what true?” Evan replied calmly.

“Can you really fly a fighter jet?”

Evan nodded, smiled. “Yes, I can. So can John.” He turned to his mother. “Ready?”

“I’ve waited for this day for twenty-one years,” she said. She reached out, cupped Evan’s face in her hands, stared at him. “You look so beautiful. Just like your father. He’d be so proud of you.”

Evan smiled sweetly. “Really, Mama?”

She pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Yes, my son.” She held her hands out to her little grandsons. “Let’s go on an adventure.”

Their adventure began as a hike away from the house. They turned off all the lights, locked up, like they were going on vacation. They walked down the dirt road, past the car Evan had stolen, far away from the peaceful little cluster of houses.

As soon as they hit the edges of suburbia, Evan found them another vehicle, a minivan.

“Some soccer mom is going to miss this in the morning,” John said.

Evan patted the dash fondly. “She’ll get it back.”

John rode shotgun, wasn’t surprised to see Sofia armed with a handgun of her own, scanning their surroundings as they drove south. He was surprised to see that Shannon had one resting in her lap the way most older ladies held knitting.

“I thought your father was -” John cleared his throat, spoke to Evan in a low voice.

“The man who raised me wasn’t my real father,” Evan said. “The O’Haras had Samvel Davytyan executed when he left Boston and took the heir of not one but two families with him.”

The heir of two families. John had never quite appreciated who Evan was. But he understood why one of the families had had his father killed.

“Where are we going?” John asked.

Evan glanced at him and smiled. “Somewhere over the rainbow.” He kept on driving.

In the back, the two boys - Connor and Kieran - dozed, fell asleep on their mother. Shannon stayed awake, watching the world pass them by, keeping an eye out for tails most likely. John dozed, because he was exhausted - and he trusted Evan.

As it turned out, somewhere over the rainbow was in Little Tokyo in LA. John awoke just as Evan was pulling into the city, where there was an endless stream of tail lights in front of them, endless headlights coming toward them on the opposite side of the freeway, and honking horns and angry sign language all around. The city was still bustling and alive.

Evan abandoned the minivan outside of an apothecary in Chinatown and then they walked down to Hill Street, John and Evan strolling along at the front, holding hands, like any couple enjoying the evening beneath the bright city lights. Sofia and Shannon walked behind them, the boys between them and holding their hands, a different group of pedestrians to the casual observer.

Somewhere Over The Rainbow was a restaurant.

Evan led them to the anteroom just inside the door, where people were invited to remove their shoes and put on a pair of the house slippers before they took their meal. Only there was a crowd inside the door, and a man was saying,

“All right, all right, who thinks they have what it takes? One minute is the time to beat.”

He talked like a street hustler, the kind of guy who’d shill people at three-card monty.

Evan eased his way past most of the crowd, and John followed, wary. A young Japanese man was sitting behind a table. He had unnaturally red hair and uncanny violet eyes, and he had an old-fashioned stopwatch in one hand.

A man cracked his knuckles, sat opposite him, picked up a pair of chopsticks. There were two little bowls in front of him.

“Ready?” the man with the stopwatch asked.

The man with the chopsticks nodded.

“Aaaaand go!”

The stopwatch clicked on.

The other bystanders started chanting and cheering and shouting advice and encouragement.

John stared in disbelief as the man with the chopsticks attempted to transfer brightly-colored pieces of candy from one bowl to the other.

Skittles.

At first the man was doing all right, but the more skittles he transferred to the other bowl, the harder it was for him to pick up the remaining pieces.

The red-haired man’s eyes lit, and he started a countdown. “Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven -”

The people all around him picked up the chant.

On one, he stopped the stopwatch.

The man with the chopsticks swore in Japanese and slumped back in his chair, set the chopsticks aside. He shoved the chair back and rose, went to rejoin his friends, half of whom slapped him on the back in sympathy, the other half of whom ribbed him.

“Anyone else have the magic touch?” the man asked. “Anyone else want a free meal?”

Evan shrugged off his jacket. “I’ll give it a try.”

The other men - most of whom were Japanese - turned to look at him, eyebrows raised, but the redhead gestured to the empty seat.

“You think you have the magic touch?”

Evan rolled up his sleeves, picked up the chopsticks. “The trick to skittles,” he said, “is to have a soft hand, not to squeeze too hard.”

The redhead looked amused, but he nodded. “All right. You ready?” He waggled the stopwatch.

“When you are.”

“Go!”

John watched, amazed, as Evan transferred the skittles from one bowl to the other, one at a time, neatly and confidently, as easily as if he were eating rice. What the hell was Evan doing? Why was he even bothering to -

The redhead began the countdown, and John’s heart sped up.

Evan dropped the last skittle into the bowl one second before the redhead shouted, “Time!”

“And we have a winner!” The redhead cried. “Fifty-nine seconds is the new time to beat.” He reached out, shook Evan’s hand. “Come along, sir. Your free meal awaits.”

Evan nodded, bowed respectfully.

The redhead led them into the restaurant. Evan was hot on his heels, and John and the rest of the family followed. 

“Please, have a seat,” the redhead said, “and I’ll be right with you to get your drink orders.” 

He’d led them to a booth in the back.

Evan slid into it, so John slid in beside him - and then he noticed that the rest of the family was gone. He turned to Evan, but Evan was looking at the redheaded man, the two of them exchanging knowing looks.

The man nodded and walked away.

A few moments later, he reappeared with a soda for John and a water for Evan. Then he slid into the booth opposite them.

“You trust this guy?” he asked, nodding at John.

Evan said, “With my life.”

And then the man began to speak - in fluent Irish.  _ “Is it time? You’ve come for it?” _

John opened his mouth to protest, but Evan squeezed his knee.

_ “Yes, it is time,”  _ Evan said.  _ “Thank you for keeping an eye on it for me. We’re going to need some supplies to get there.” _

_ “Of course.” _ The man nodded.  _ “The usual?” _

_ “A bit heavier this time, I think. They’re making like they’re FBI, and it looked like a fairly solid cover - they had Cousin Nancy fooled into thinking they were legit.” _

_ “Nancy? She’s no slouch.”  _ The man whistled appreciatively.  _ “You can borrow one of the cars. I’ll get it loaded up for battle.” _

_ “War,” _ Evan said.  _ “This is war.” _

The man’s expression was grave. He studied Evan for a long time.

_ “Twenty years, Bluebell. That’s a damn long time.” _

_ “It’ll be worth it, to be free, right?” _

The man looked away.

_ “Rainbow,” _ Evan said.  _ “You want this, right?” _

John bit back a startled laugh.

The man turned to him. “What?”

“Your name is Rainbow?”

“Aya,” he said flatly. “My name is Aya, which is Japanese for Rainbow, and - how do you know that?”

“You’re not the only one who speaks Irish around here,” John said.

Aya shot Evan a betrayed look.

“I’m surprised you speak Irish,” John said.

Aya scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Well, this is what happens with an Irish mob princess falls in love with a Yakuza enforcer.” He cut a glance over to Evan. “Who  _ is _ this guy?”

“Baby John Sheppard,” Evan said.

Aya burst into a flurry of swearing in about three different languages and then had to apologize to the customers around them in three different languages. He leaned in and hissed. “What the  _ hell _ are you doing, bringing a Sheppard here? Sure, their family got torn to pieces - no offense -”

“I was the one who got the ball rolling on that one,” John said.

Aya stared at him. “Damn. No wonder you and Bluebell are all buddy-buddy. Anarchists, both of you.” In Irish he said,  _ “All right, war it is. Let’s go.” _

He led them out of the restaurant through the back, around the corner, and down into what John at first thought was a basement but was in fact some kind of fancy garage, full of really beautiful cars in various states of repair.

“It’s not a chop shop,” Aya said, leading them across the shop floor to a sleek black Dodge Challenger. “I like street racing in my time. Tokyo Drift and all that. This is one of my hot rods. No cop can catch up with her. And I guarantee nothing those Flanigan  _ bakas _ are rolling in will keep up either. Take a look under the hood, make sure I’m not bullshitting you.”

“I trust you, cousin,” Evan said.

But Aya popped the hood, and John took a look. He whistled appreciatively.

“You do the work yourself?”

Aya nodded. “All with my own two delicate little hands.” 

“It’s good,” John said to Evan.

Evan nodded. “I know.” 

But he had to let John check for himself, because they were in this together.

“I’ll get her loaded up,” Aya said. He closed the hood, patted it affectionately. “I’d say bring her back in one piece, but - she’s a small sacrifice, in the grand scheme of things.”

“I’m sorry,” Evan said. 

“Don’t be.” Aya reached out, dragged him into a crushing hug for a moment. “For two decades you were gone. Left me all alone. We were supposed to be half-breeds together forever.”

“Half-breeds forever,” Evan said, smiling.

“Those pictures you sent were nice,” Aya added. “You keep getting better and better.”

“Between you and Mama, I had great teachers.” Evan kissed Aya on the cheek, the gesture both ritualistic and affectionate.

“Now c’mon, the best sushi in the city awaits.” 

Aya led them back into the restaurant, past the kitchen, and up the stairs to what John had thought would be private dining rooms but was in fact a private residence.

Shannon, Sofia, and the boys were kneeling around a small table, an array of dishes spread out between them, talking and smiling with a pretty young Japanese woman.

“You must have been practicing with those skittles,” Aya said. “You set the last record, and for years it’s been the gold standard. Those old men will think you’re a scam artist.”

“Like I said, I had a great teacher.” Evan reached out, squeezed Aya’s shoulder, then slipped out of his shoes, toed on a pair of slippers, and went to kneel beside his mother.

Aya nodded at the woman, and she guided Kieran and Connor out of the room with a promise of video games. Aya withdrew, drawing the screen doors closed behind him.

“What will you do once you have it?” Sofia asked. “Turn it in, spend the rest of your life behind bars?”

John, who’d just bit into quite possibly the best piece of sushi he’d ever tasted, almost choked. Evan pounded on his back while he swallowed down some water. 

_ “What?” _

Shannon eyed him. “So he didn’t tell you. Always was a cagey lad, our Evan.”

John turned to him. “Evan, tell me you’re not - you’re not going to throw yourself on your sword or whatever.”

“No, he won’t,” Shannon said, and Evan looked startled.

So that  _ was _ his plan.

“I’m old, I’ve lived my life. A jury will look at me, an old woman who’s spent most of her life doting on her grandchildren, and I’ll have an easy time of it. If they prosecute me at all. Turning state’s evidence - and with that much evidence - will smooth the way for me.” Shannon sipped her tea. “But you have to get it first.”

Sofia said, “I’m coming with you.”

Evan shook his head. “No. The boys need their mother. Besides, John and I were trained the same way. We make a good team.”

“So the San Francisco police have no doubt discovered by now,” Sofia said. “And what of you? Who’re you leaving behind?”

Evan reached out, covered John’s hand with his. “If I don’t come back, I know John will take care of Rodney.”

Realization lit in Shannon’s eyes, and she looked John up and down again.

“I always told Henry it was a mistake, to take you to Boston with him like that.” She sipped her tea some more.

“Greedy bastard,” Sofia muttered. “Tell me about this Rodney character.”

John said, “He’s a genius.”

And so they talked late into the night, telling what stories they could about Rodney and his genius, Evan and his continued logistic skills, John and some of the daredevil stunts he’d pulled. John learned about what Evan was like as a child, how he’d had a downright embarrassing mullet for a while there, how he’d been utterly clumsy till he was about fourteen and then somehow grew into his own limbs, how for years he’d only been coordinated and graceful on the water, was a talented surfer.

“Is there anything you  _ can’t _ do?” John asked.

Shannon and Sofia said, “Sing.”

The screen doors slid open, and Aya was there.

“Car’s ready.”

 


End file.
